The sound of muffled snorts hit my ears, and a half-second later, the choking, gasping bouts of laughter come. Someone wheezes so hard, they thud to the floor from where they no doubt fell off the bench. A deep baritone is trying way too hard to whisper whilst saying, “Holy shit bro. Everest just gotfairy bombed.” I register the unmistakable click of a phone being unlocked just as Swim Kid’s music changes to a rave remix ofBarbie Girl.
I blink, shaking the specks from my lashes and watching them rain towards the ground. My designer T-shirt is ruined. There’s nothing that can be done to save it from the arts-and-crafts vomit covering my torso. My eyes lift to the locker’s contents, half-expecting to find the remnants of the glitter cannon shoved into my gym shoes. Instead, it’s tucked inside my hoodie sleeve along with a folded square of matte paper. I don’t touch it immediately, mostly because I’m trying to delay the tickle playing at the bridge of my nose, and fail.
The sneeze comes violently, a sudden, unglamorous expulsion that sends a new burst of sparkles bursting around me in a shimmering arc. They catch in the fluorescent lights, enveloping me inside my personal snow globe of hellish color. I wipe my nose with the back of my wrist, smearing the sparkles further across my cheekbone, leaving a streak that might never come off.
More people are flocking into the locker room, beckoned in by their friends. Each one gasps louder than the last, but I’m pointedly ignoring them all. It’s too late to tell them to get out or to put their phones down. Carefully, I reach for the note and pluck it free, brushing off the top layer of glitter with a flick of my fingers before unfolding it. The handwriting is neat, decorative, and feminine.
Try not to choke on your ego, Captain.
I narrow my eyes at the signature-less message. It has to be her. I don’t know how Meg found the time to sneak in whilst I was distracted, but her intention is loud and clear. This is a sequin-coated declaration of war.
My jaw ticks. I tried to be as nice as I can. I offered to help her reputation, I’ve already publicly defended her, and this is how she repays me. The sensation of the glitter clinging to my throat and the curve of my collarbone is maddening. Like I’m being massaged with sandpaper. The laughter dies down behind me, replaced by the occasional cough and rustle of someone sneaking out before I recover from this disaster. Anyone from my ranks caught in here when I’m ready to face them will face a punishment, if only for sticking around. The fact that no one saw anything suspicious before I was made a fool of is even worse.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to straighten. I smooth down the front of my ruined T-shirt and shut my locker with a quiet, metallic click. The music cuts out and a wet squeak of shower sandals round the corner. Swim Kid pulls up short at his audience, and then his eyes land on me.
“Say a single word,” I dare him with a hoarse voice. I don’t bother finishing my threat, mostly because it hurts to speak. Also because I don’t know how I could possibly seem imposing right now whilst looking like a pissed-off version of Tinkerbell. Luckily, Swim Kid values his life and retreats back into the showers, clutching his towel at his waist. Twisting my head, I address those lingering with a side-glance.
“Whoever brings Megan O’Connor to me can have my ticket to the Lakers game next weekend.” Suddenly, the men scatter and cause a pile-up in the doorway. A shudder rolls the length of my spine, and my hands curl into fists at my sides. Despite it all,a slow smirk pulls at my lips. Yep, someone is definitely fucking with me, and she’s about to get what’s coming to her.
Chapter Eleven
Tossing a piece of popcorn high into the air, I catch it in my mouth and chew with a satisfied smile plastered all over my face. It’s dark out, but my entire face is illuminated by the screen before me. I just can’t stop watching the feed replay, finding a new angle each time to make me chuckle even harder.
It’s a piece of art honestly. The rain of color, the juxtaposition of shimmer against a muscled, sweaty athlete. Everest was my canvas this evening, which I suppose makes me the artist. I’ll thank Logan, the delightful young swimmer, in my acceptance speech.
Not only did he plant the bomb in Everest’s locker, thanks to the digital locking system proving to be all too hackable, buthe also stuck a microscopic camera on the far wall so I could watch the scene play out in real time. The moment of detonation was captured frame by frame so I could select the best image for tomorrow’s local newspaper print. And that was before all of the live streams started popping up online giving me even better vantage points.
Throwing another piece of popcorn, it lands in my mouth just as I hit replay. It wasn’t half as difficult as I expected to find people willing to sabotage their so-called Campus King. Within an hour of setting up a fake insta page, coined #theDownfallofEverestCalloway,a dozen messages had appeared in my inbox with willing volunteers. Logan was the most willing, and for the stellar performance he gave, that boy deserves far more than the donation I sent to his Venmo. I need to keep him on my payroll, for sure.
Then there’s the young lady who purchased the glitter bomb and camera, delicately wrote the note, and handed it all to my new swimmer friend. She wouldn’t even accept payment. Something about Everest’s crew pranking her just before summer, swapping out her shampoo for hair removal cream. I personally think she wears the patches rather well.
Deciding on the image that will get the best response, one of Everest mid-sneeze and enveloped in his personal snow globe of sparkles, I drag it into one of many burner emails I have on hand. I toy with a few subject titles before settling on,“Campus Royalty Gets Dethroned in Sparkle Storm”.
From what I’ve read,Hollowbrook’s local news team seems desperate for a break from covering potholes and fundraisers. They’re going to eat this up like it’s a box of donuts at a PTA meeting. I hit send, sit back, and shovel a handful of popcorn into my mouth. It’s a good day to be alive and looking out for my girl in ways no one else can. Power fills my veins andprotectiveness swells my heart. I suddenly sit upright, spilling the rest of my bowl onto the floor.
“Woah,” I half-choke, “Slow down there, Amante. She’s not ready for all that yet.” Shaking my head at myself, I crack my knuckles and check my phone’s messages. Meg still hasn’t replied to my earlier check-in, having gone directly to the library after her meeting with the Dean. I thought I’d leave her be for a while. Give her the space to come to me when she’s ready. You know, let heryearnto message me.
But as evening rolls into night, I start to squirm in my seat. I try coding for a bit, tinkering with a side project that doesn’t take too much attention. When that inevitably wears thin, I come up with the genius idea of building a custom emoji pack themed around Everest’s glitter bomb moment. Sparkle explosions, tiaras cracking in half, and a cartoon version of his sneezing face with little glitter clouds puffing from his nostrils. I launch the pack as an easily downloadable link and submit to my fake insta profile. That will get people really excited when the news breaks.
Surely that wasted a whole…ugh, ten minutes. Still no little “typing…” bubble from the woman that’s occupying my every thought and morning jerk session. I get up and pace the length of my room, then resolve to work out, but it does little to help bleed some of the restlessness from my limbs.
“Why is the library the only building without cameras?” I start talking to myself, quietly at first, then louder as the debate gains traction in my mind. “Surely books go missing all the time, being damaged and stolen without any consequence. And then there’s all the dark corners and unsociable hours. Anything could be happening in there.” My eyes slide to my phone. Fuck it, this is stupid.
Thi:Don’t mind me. It’s justyour emotional support hacker here, making sure you’ve eaten today.
I drop onto my back on the mattress, bouncing slightly. Watching those tiny ticks remain gray is enough to test any man’s resolve, but luckily less than a minute goes by before they switch to blue. A slow smile spreads across my face. I knew the concerned friend act would catch her. Hook, line and sinker.
Meg:That depends. Have you gone outside today?
Thi:How very dare you. I’m an extremely busy man.
Meg:Oh yeah? Not too busy to distract me from my studying though.
Thi:What do you possibly have to study? You haven’t even attended a class yet.
I catch myself before she has the chance to reply, remembering my charm.
Thi:And I’m never too busy to text my favorite gal.
